Drifting Towards an Unknown
by macarypbell
Summary: Jo's point of view for "Abandon All Hope."


Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

With everything that was going on at this very instant, it was kind of amazing how singular her thought process was. She was in the middle of the apocalypse-the fire and brimstone, no happy ending kind. Their angel was missing, they were surrounded by reapers, and they were fighting against invisible hell beasts that were incredibly difficult to kill. And due to Lucifer and Michael vying for their very own piece of the Winchester pie, Dean and Sam were safe. Even if these hellhounds chasing them got a hold of either one of them, the angels would just bring them back. They were like that carnival game-smack one with a mallet, they'd pop back up again eventually.

It was grossly unfair.

So when she was running, propelling her mom in front of her and trying to find a neutral place to take on the dogs, she was expecting a freak-out of massive proportions. Internally, of course-she was not looking to prove her mother right when Ellen said she couldn't handle hunting. Perhaps a string of paranoid unconscious thoughts; detailing her worry for her mother, her hatred of all things Lucifer, and her annoyance that anything involving the Winchester brothers had to end in complete and total chaos. Something along the lines of, '_Oh, God, Oh shit, what the hell are we going to do now-are they behind me, where's Mom, where's Dean and Sam, oh, fuck the devil up his whiny mass-murdering ass-' _

But no-there was nothing. She was running for her life, and apparently there was no deliberate thought involved in that. At least, until she heard Dean shout out behind her. Her brain decided her course of action for her, because her only clear conscious thought exposed both her feelings and her intent.

'_Not Dean.'_

Which seriously just pissed her off. I mean, really? She'd never even slept with the guy and he was the last thing going through her mind when she was about to _die?_ How utterly pathetic was that? Jo knew he didn't feel that way about her. She _knew._ He might have thought she was talented at hunting, and maybe admired her for choosing this life voluntarily. But that, sadly, was as far as it went. Sure, he propositioned her a couple of hours ago, but the last night on earth proposal only meant that you didn't want to be alone for as long as physically possible before you bit it. Truthfully, she had considered saying yes. When she turned around and saw him behind her, she figured she'd get a "thanks for being here" speech and a pat on the shoulder; instead he leaned in and she could _smell_ him and oh, god, those freckles-and her reasoning went on a split-second vacation.

Until his words registered and she realized he was offering her the opportunity to become one of the countless bar sluts he'd fucked along the side of the highway.

How _flattering._

She'd be damned if he'd reduce her to that. She'd been tempted to try a seduction on the virgin angel after that, just out of spite. However, her adult side prevailed. She said no, and life went on-at least for another day. Anything beyond that wasn't looking too promising. She'd thought about it the rest of the night, which was somewhat relieving-she'd used so much mental energy obsessing about the end of the world it was kind of nice to think about something meaningless in comparison. It was a pleasant diversion.

But here and now, Dean called out behind her, and her body instinctively went to his aid. She turned around and began firing her shotgun. She watched the rock salt explode onto an invisible form, and heard whimpering. She fired again, and again, because it didn't matter that Dean had more lives than the entire cast from _Cats_. It didn't matter that she was walking into danger for him instead of running away from it like he would want her to. She would stand in front of him and fire until he was safe or until something killed her, because she knew it was right and that he would do it for her. Ultimately, saving Dean was the only chance they had of saving the entire world, and since her mother part of it she would fight until there was no breath left in her body. She hit the form enough to force it away from Dean, but she heard a growl and footsteps behind her and she knew_._

She turned around and accepted her fate, knowing that this was her role. Winning the apocalypse meant keeping the Winchesters alive and out of the angels' clutches, and if they died who knew what the feathered douchebags would do to them?

It lunged, she fell, and her future was destroyed in one messy stroke.

Her side exploded with pain, radiating throughout her entire body. She felt each individual claw tear into her flesh, and brutally rip out muscle and tendon on the outstroke. She reared back in agony, her blood spraying up into her face and open mouth. Her vision went white-she couldn't see, she couldn't _think_. Her side throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and she could feel the life escaping her and flowing from her body to pool beneath her. She felt something streak from the corners of her eyes, and realized she didn't know if it was blood or tears. The pain consumed her entire being, so much she didn't feel Dean's arms around her at first, carrying her to safety. She certainly felt it when he started running though, his movements jarring her side so violently she was consumed by the sudden urge to rip the knife out of her forearm holster and stab him through the neck with it. However, the action struck her as completely counterproductive, so she refrained. Barely.

He carried her inside a convenience store, Sam and her mom's shotgun blasts echoing around them. She saw the blood from her hand drip onto the floor in a linear pattern, in a sick parody of that children's tale she used to read when she was younger. Follow the marked trail to find your way home, kids-except this time there's a dead girl at the end of the line. Was that her, whimpering? God, how embarrassing. She's crying and shivering and she can't stop moaning, and Jesus fuck, she always thought she'd end up moaning in Dean's arms eventually, but this is seriously _not_ the way she wanted to do it.

Were these the thoughts that someone usually had when they were dying? Really? She obviously wouldn't know for sure, but damn. She'd think there would be more to it; maybe lamenting about losing her virginity to side four of Led Zeppelin in the back of some guy's car, or regretting that her dad never got a chance to know her as an adult. She could even see herself wishing she wouldn't have fought with her mom so much about the hunting issue because they would never get the time back that they spent apart. But if she changed anything about the way her life played out, she wouldn't have been there in that very moment to protect Dean. That was an unacceptable thought to her, because if someone had to die so the one destined to kill Lucifer could live, it sure as hell wasn't going to be her mom.

Dean set her down and propped her up, and her mom ran over with a bandage to try to staunch the flow from her side. Sam wrapped chains around the door handles and Dean spread salt in the doorway and every window, and she took comfort in the fact that if she died her mom would be safe with them. She knew that both Sam and Dean would die for her mom in a heartbeat, and that strengthened her resolve. If she was going to go-and the odds of that were looking pretty good right about now-her mom would be okay. Heartbroken and completely devastated, but safe. Her mom pressed the bandage into her side with more force, and Jo had to stomp on the urge to swing out with a left hook. Pressure increased the pain, and she knew that her mom was just trying to help but _fuck_ did that have to hurt so much?

Her mom let up on her side so they could see the extent of the damage, and Sam and Dean made their way over to access the situation. The bandage peeled off the wound, sticking in places and emitting a low sucking sound that was both nauseating and worrying. Her side was exposed to the light, but she didn't bother looking. Jo watched her mother's face hold back tears, Dean's expression as he closed his eyes and pain flickered over his features, and Sam as he averted his gaze and stared at the floor like it held the secrets to the universe.

Well. That answered the 'am I making it out of here' question. Fantastic. She was _so _glad she'd stuck to her morals and didn't screw the ever loving hell out of Dean last night. _Really._

She held in the insane urge to giggle. It kind of made sense to her that pretty much all of her thoughts were grossly inappropriate and underestimating the gravity of the situation-she'd be damned if she was going to cry because of anything other than physical pain. Her insides were spilling out onto the concrete floor around her, and goddammit, wasn't it _hysterical_ that yet another Harvelle was bleeding out because of a Winchester?

Sam went off somewhere and Dean left to contact Bobby, but her mother didn't move from her side. She used one hand to press the compress into Jo's side and the other to hold her hand. Jo rubbed her thumb along the outside of her mother's hand, trying to give comfort. The first time she could consciously remember holding her mother's hand was at her father's funeral. John brought the body back with him, and he was salted and burned like he'd requested. Her mother, of course, had locked her inside the house-watching her father's corpse burn into pieces would have completely scarred her for life-but they'd had their own little ceremony. After her father's body was gone, she and her mom had gotten a shoebox from the basement of the Roadhouse and filled it with memories of him. Pictures of him, letters he had written them, gifts he had given them. They buried it outside in the back, and her mom let her shovel out a hole large enough for the box and a large pretty rock she'd found somewhere for the marker. When the box was in the ground and they'd covered the area with dirt, they sat down cross legged next to each other and just stared at the rock like it had the secret to escaping the heaviness they were drowning in. They sat there for at least an hour, until her mom pulled her legs up to her chest, buried her face in her knees, and cried. She didn't know what to do for her-she was only a kid, and no one seemed to think that kids knew anything anyway.

But her mom never treated her that way. She told Jo that she was a good girl, smart as a whip and that she had everything to offer the world.

So she huddled into her mom's side, and reached over and clasped her mom's hand. She laced their fingers together, rubbing the back of her mother's hand with her thumb, and whispered, "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll keep you safe."

Twenty years later, she was keeping her promise.

She tried to shift her legs, and was alarmed when she realized that they weren't responding. She subtly tried again when her mother was turned around looking for another bandage, and realized that she could barely move her lower half. Her extremities were going numb. Which, hey-at least her side wasn't at screaming-like-your-head's-on-fire levels anymore. It was a potential bonus in this FUBAR situation. However, from what she remembered of first aid, numbness was not good-it meant she was losing too much blood, her organs were failing, and she was going into shock.

She was really going to die.

She'd thought about it, and she'd accepted it as a likely conclusion to this extreme situation. She was very calm and rational, and hey-at least she was sure there was a heaven she had a chance of getting into. But no matter how brave her face was, there was still a little girl inside of her, crying because she still had so much left she wanted to do. It wasn't what girls her age normally wanted for themselves; she didn't want a house in the suburbs, a perfect husband or children. She didn't want to go to college, become someone famous, or discover the cure for cancer.

She wanted to be everything to someone. She'd been a daughter, friend, and savior. A confidant, a girlfriend, a fellow hunter. But she'd never meant more than the world to someone else. Living at the Roadhouse meant men came and went out of her life constantly, and she adjusted accordingly. She never got attached-she knew the score. Everyone had a good time, and no one got hurt.

She regretted never having the opportunity to trust someone enough to believe in love. That was the true kick-in-the-pants of her entire life, and why she'd felt the way she did about Dean. He was a hunter, so he knew the lifestyle. If she left in the middle of the night and came back covered in blood, the only thing he would yell about is her not taking him with her. He was loyal to a fault, and he got it. He got _her._ She could have everything she needed with him.

Despite what others might think, she'd never been in love with Dean. To her, he represented potential. A possibility that she could have what she truly wanted without giving up what was important. Earlier, she overheard Dean talking to Bobby and realized that Dean couldn't tell him she was dying. He stopped in the middle of the sentence, his voice cracking and his face tortured, and she wished she could get up and give him a hug because she knew what this was doing to him. Jo was sorry it hurt him, but could never be sorry about the outcome.

Her vision was starting to gray at the corners, and the numbness had encompassed her entire midsection. She had never in her life been so bone-chillingly cold. She looked past her mother to see Dean conferring with Sam about how to face the devil and still get her out of there, and she knew then that she had to be real about this situation because no one else in the room could be. So Jo proposed her plan, disregarded Dean's arguments, and watched her mother's face fracture into pieces.

They moved around her gathering the supplies she'd indicated, while Jo rested her head on the wall behind her and tried not to let the tears escape. She wasn't in pain anymore, which meant she didn't have long, but she was perplexed as to why she felt so nauseas. She'd figured at first, '_my guts are on my outsides instead of my insides, nausea isn't totally surprising,_' but as she thought about it more and more she realized that it had nothing to do with her injury.

It was her body telling her she had never been so _fucking terrified_.

She'd beheaded vampires, exorcised demons, and shot shape shifters point blank with silver bullets. She'd dug up corpses and set them on fire, evaded the law while breaking it, and snuck into a Justin Bieber concert (God help her) in order to eliminate a suspect. But she had never considered killing herself, and it was proving hard to grasp because she was a fighter. She had never given up on other people, and had never given up on herself. But when it came to the hunting life, she knew she had help if she needed it. She called on Bobby and Rufus and occasionally her mom, and they gave her information or a hand and she knew she was never truly alone out there. In this room, she was alone and afraid and didn't know if she could do this.

Who, exactly, was supposed to help her kill herself?

But they were out of options. And she wasn't giving up; she was giving them a chance. A chance for her mom to walk away from this, and Jo would just keep an air-tight lid on the terrified little girl inside her screaming for her mommy.

Sam came over and clasped her hand, running his thumb over her palm like she did earlier for her mom. He simply said thank you, which was rather nice of him. Then he apologized for tying her to a post and threatening her with a knife, and he made Jo laugh with the last-ditch effort for absolution. Sam may be infected with demon blood, but it was possible to physically _see _the goodness in him. He'd made bad choices, but didn't they all? His were just on a higher level-Jo couldn't imagine her life directly affecting the universe. She probably would have forced the world to spontaneously implode by now. He moved away from her and Dean stepped in, dragging the wires and the switch toward her. He gently grasped her hand to place the switch inside, tenderly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, and Jo had to battle the silent tears threatening to escape. He told her he would see her again soon, and Jo told him to make it later.

She'd be damned if she was blowing herself up for him to last a week.

He clasped her cheek, pulled her head towards him, and kissed her on the forehead. He pulled back, and she tried smiling at him, but it didn't look like he was capable of returning the favor. He leaned in and kissed her. It was chaste, loving, and bittersweet, and Jo couldn't contain the tears that fell onto her cheeks because she _knew it_. In another life, they could be. One where her blood wasn't in her mouth, her side wasn't torn to shreds, and they were allowed to exist with simpler lives. He was her possibility.

He moved away and her mother kneeled before her. She tried to smile at her; let her know that she was okay with this ending. She wasn't, but there was no way in hell she was letting her mother know that. Her life was already over-she only had minutes left, she could feel it-and she would be strong for her mom like Ellen had been for Jo's entire life.

Until her mom smiled and shook her head, and Jo's entire self fractured in agony.

She begged her mom to leave, but Ellen kneeled firm. She told Jo that she was right-which was the first time Jo had heard that in a _very_ long time-and she refused to go. She refused to leave her, and Jo had never hated herself more in that moment, because she realized that a tiny part of her was grateful. She looked into her mother's eyes, and was wrecked because she understood. Her father was gone, and she was dying-her mom wouldn't exist without her. She couldn't.

Her mom turned to say goodbye to the boys, in true hunter form. No sappiness, just an order to get the job done and a smile. Jo was looking in their direction, staring through them because she wasn't able to focus anymore. She wanted to say something else, but really-what was left? She didn't think she could muster the energy. She was so tired.

Her mom left to turn on the propane and open the doors, and Jo sagged into the wall, exhaustion robbing her of any physical capability. She was so weakened she didn't have the strength to hold the bandage to her side. Spots were dancing across her vision, and her head was beginning to get fuzzy. She couldn't remember her father's face. Jo waited for the memory montage to begin-isn't that what everyone who'd nearly died said happened? There was nothing. She couldn't remember what her dad's arms felt like. She felt like she was floating away; pieces of herself disappearing into the unknown. She was losing everything, and she would cry if she thought her body could still produce tears. She was drifting, alone and unanchored. She was frightened and fought futilely to regain consciousness, looking for her mom. She had to be strong for her mom.

Her mom's arm reached around her, and Jo sank into the embrace she offered. She couldn't remember her father's arms, but she would leave remembering her mother's. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely safe.

She let go of life in her mother's embrace, knowing that where she went her mom would follow. She would never be alone again.


End file.
